


This Isn't Love

by Belle_Evans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mpreg, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Sexual Content, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:09:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle_Evans/pseuds/Belle_Evans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every member of Chris' family has had a bout with crazy.  It's just his turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sterek and Petopher are my OTPs so...I'm not sure how this happened. First it was going to be a short little post-coital fic, now it's a possible three chapter thing with angst sap and mpreg. Yikes. First Teen Wolf fic.
> 
> Ignored those last five minutes or so of the Season 3 Finale that showed what everyone was up to in the aftermath and the dream.

Maybe it's the late hour or the ridiculousness of the situation overall that makes Chris Argent have to bite down hard on a laugh that wants to churn out of him. At the moment, he is literally watching Derek Hale's back. In a hunter's cabin lit by moonlight and a camp light, he's staring at the unblemished expanse of skin, unmarked despite Chris' best efforts. The hand he's not holding a cold beer in traces absently over a shallow bite mark across his shoulder. There are other bruises, marks on his abdomen, his inner thighs, his ass. 

He watches the even rise and fall of of Derek's side, the indication he's sound asleep. Chris is never really able to sleep after. The most he can usually manage is a light doze, but Derek goes out like a light. Secure that no harm will come to him. In that, he is not wrong. Naked, sitting in one of two chairs in the room, Chris is not exactly dressed to do battle or armed to do anyone or anywere harm. That isn't what this is about. There might be harm, but not that kind. 

 

It happened so easily, more easily than it probably should have given who they were, but now they are living in the wake of the chaos caused by the nogitsune. Chaos for others, devastation for him. He will never be the person he was. It's still up in the air whether the next incarnation of Chris Argent will be better or worse. Everyone is dealing with the aftermath differently and the alliances built to battle a common enemy has been fractured again. The fracture isn't from malice, still neither he nor the sleeping werewolf have quite been able to bridge it. 

The Sheriff's kid and his daughter's ex are both dealing with loss, but they also have their parents and friends to support them as they put themselves and their lives back together. When Lydia Martin came to see him, she held his hand and cried. He hadn't said a word. He regrets that he hadn't been able to really find any words for her, but like the others she still has her family. Although they did make it a point to check up on him in the first month, they're teenagers trying to hold themselves together. 

Melissa McCall and the Sheriff have tried, but given the lives their children live, being around him only underscores the threat to their own children, reinforces their need to spend more time with their sons. Seeing the two of them only highlights what Chris has lost so it's just as well they leave him alone. He has given everyone. They've given nothing. 

At this moment in his life, Derek Hale is the one with whom he is most kindred. Hale has suffered the loss of everything. Although the return of his sister and uncle could be considered mitigation, the werewolf barely has his younger sister or his self-involved uncle who Chris hears is busy stalking his recently discovered daughter. Even if the Hale family were all suddenly resurrected, nothing can take away that initial gut punch at the realization your entire family is gone. The days, months, years of living with it leaves a mark. 

Isaac...That kid might have been the best shot for both of them to stay tied to someone, something outside themselves, but after everything the kid needed to go somewhere quiet, peaceful. Derek and Scott had sent him to South America. Of everyone, the hunter and Derek Hale are probably the most most untethered. In the aftermath of the nogitsune, Beacon Hills is experiencing a lull in the supernatural and weird. What Argent is currently doing with the werewolf notwithstanding. It's the lull and the loose endedness of things that had them both deep in the woods one night four weeks ago. Chris was ostensibly tracking a wood nymph, not because of any specific threat. It was a nice distraction from staring at the walls of the apartment or cleaning his guns, again. He hadn't found the nymph, he'd found Derek instead, drenched in sweat and panting like he'd been running for days. Before he'd had the chance to really ask Derek what he was doing the sky opened up. They'd both sprinted for the nearby hunter's cabin to get out of the deluge.

 

There's a small movement of the sheet which is a precursor to a larger movement. Sure enough Derek's whole body shifts. The expanse of back is gone to be replaced by a stunningly defined chest and abdomen. Like his back there are no traces of how much Chris enjoyed him earlier. He's use to it, but there is still a twinge of disappointment. He's got enough ego to want to see his handiwork. When he is here Chris tries to be honest with himself. He doesn't flinch from the fact that if he weren't grieving this would not be happening. He has chosen the most inappropriate person, creature in Beacon Hills to have sex with. Part of the honesty thing is the acknowledgement to himself that Hale isn't just a respite. He's a beautiful respite. There is almost as much pleasure in simply looking at the other man's body as there is in possessing it. It can't really be self-destructive if he sees clearly what he's doing. 

“Chris?” The huskiness of sleep laces through the one word invitation to come back to bed. It hits Chris where it's supposed to. Without hesitation, he stands up. Another part of him does it's best to rise to the occasion as well. Perching on the edge of the bed, they are connected by only their mouths, just the way it began. Making out like kids. 

 

***************

The rain had come upon them so fast and hard that day. They were still drenched by the time they stumbled inside the cabin. He'd started a fire, before they'd both stripped down to their skivvies, Chris in a white undershirt and boxer briefs. Hale in just his dark boxer briefs since he'd only been wearing his requisite black t-shirt. Each had draped their clothes to take advantage of the fire. The last person to use the cabin at the end of the season had left it stocked pretty well. They grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and settled in to wait for the El Nino rain falling in sheets against the window to stop. 

They'd been drinking quietly for a few minutes. “I got an e-mail from Isaac,” Derek said interrupting the silence. At that point, the kid had been gone about a month. 

Derek started a rundown of what was in the e-mail, but Chris missed most of it. Isaac's name triggered him instead into the memory of catching his daughter and the kid, barely clothed, in her room. Which tripped him into rapid fire snapshots of himself holding her as a baby, giving her her first bow and teaching her what it meant to be part of a matriarchy. 

“Argent, Argent, Chris?” A slight pressure had registered against his wrist. When Chris blinked back into the moment, he found that he was staring at the wall with Hale squeezing his wrist to get his attention. Once his eyes settled on the man across from him, Hale's grip tightened just a bit sliding away.

“Is there a deck of cards? You wanna play poker,” Derek asked quietly. It sounded slightly stricken, like an apology which Chris didn't need. He'd compartmentalized, but sometimes the walls of the compartments got a little thin.

 

The last thing he wanted to do was sit in a room with Derek Hale emanating guilt. “We could play spin the bottle.” He'd been joking. Maybe still a little caught in thoughts of high school kids and the things his daughter would never get to do. The hunter had never gotten to play 'spin the bottle' when he was in high school. Never gotten to do a lot of the things other teenagers were doing. Training always, always came first. He'd done his best or he thought he had, at least in the beginning to allow his daughter to be more of a regular kid than he had been growing up. In the end she'd still gotten screwed all the same, so much worse than he had. The grief claws at him. If he lets go, spirals into it, it'll be a long time before he comes back. If he can get back. 

He'd spun his empty beer bottle. On the other side of the table Hale laughed. That had been enough in the moment to shift the hunter away from the edge. The bottle pointed to the door of the cabin. 

Derek had smirked at him, reached for the bottom of the bottle and spun. It wasn't what Chris expected and it had startled a genuine laugh out of him, pulling him more into the moment. Hale's spin had ended up pointing at the wall. Even. It should have stopped there, but Hale choosing to spin piqued his curiosity. The rainstorm has interrupted his chosen method of distraction. Playing a stupid kid's game presented a better distraction than enumerating the ways he'd failed his only child. 

On his second spin the bottle pointed right at the werewolf's chest. On the other side of the table, there was a quirk of the eyebrow before fluid movement around the table and the assumption of a loose fighting stance. It was a stupid challenge, a game, but it wasn't in his nature to back down. That was something Chris could work with.

They had the time to kill. He figured as soon as he rounded the table, Derek would sweep his feet from under him. They would most likely spar. That would kill time as well as anything. He'd stepped as close as he could to Hale without touching him, returned his smirk before leaning forward, waiting for Hale to lean away. His intention had been to feign kissing him on the cheek before implementing a new takedown technique he hadn't had a real opportunity to practice. 

With barely any space separating them, it struck the hunter how long it had been since he was that close to another nearly naked adult. Where fight wasn't the only possibility. With the echo of the pressure from Hale's fingers around his wrist, the smell of rainwater and forest had combined with the musk of Derek's earlier exertion to wash over and through the hunter. The hunter swayed just a little closer to touch his lips to the werewolf's cheek. Right before the moment of contact, Derek turned his head the fraction needed to honor the spirit of the stupid game they had been playing. Although a tiny part of the hunter still waited for Derek to try and sweep his feet from under him and shove him to the ground, Chris had gone with it without protest. 

From one breath to the next he was kissing Derek Hale. Deeply, wetly with a mutual ferocity and desperation. The kind of escape he hadn't understood he needed until that moment of contact. Their hands hadn't come up to touch, nothing but the exploring slide of their tongues in each other's mouths. When they had to come up for air, they locked eyes. Derek merely wiped his mouth with his thumb, quirked an eyebrow. Chris couldn't help the smile that spread across his face in response. There had been a weird kind of freedom in making out with him. No one was left to care what Argent did or with whom. The rain let up shortly after. They went their separate ways. They crossed paths a few days later in downtown Beacon Hills. Derek had done the thing with his eyebrow which was greeted with Chris' smile. An hour later they were together touching with more than their mouths. Since then, they had had lots of intense sex, but the kissing, the making out that had become their favorite kind of foreplay.

 

***************

Chris sinks easily into his lover, still slick enough from a few hours ago. _Breed Me_. Chris' rhythm falters. But the babble of words continue. _Please, please, come on, yes. Chris. Right there._ Those words are part of the pattern, them together like this. _Breed Me_ is decidedly not. He peers into Derek's face, but the other man's pupils are kind of blown, lost to the passion. His heels and nails dug deep into the hunter's back. That's all it takes for Chris to regain his stroke deep into the body beneath his. He thrusts hard once, twice. On the third, his hand tightens in Derek's hair as he dips down to bite the werewolf's bottom lip and shoots his load for a second time that night. Hale arches like a bow and howls.

 

It stays with the hunter over the next week, comes to him when he least expects. A couple of days ago he found himself standing in the baby food aisle of the grocery store. He'll be in town, stopped at a red light, cleaning his gun, drinking a beer and those two words, _Breed Me_ , will whisper through him. Of course that day when he'd gotten home he'd checked every resource at his disposal. He and Derek hadn't exactly been gloving it up. It was something he'd never considered. With the way things happened sometimes in Beacon Hills, he realized that might have been a tremendous mistake. Nothing in his reading lent any feasibility to Derek's plea being anything other than nonsense in the moments of passion. 

 

It should end there, but it doesn't. Some of the things he's read, the wording was a little weird. A few of the translations were awkward where they shouldn't have been. It gnaws at him. So he reviews the sources again with an eye less towards what they say, what he wants them to say and more towards their tone and purpose. It takes one exhaustive day of reading, referencing and cross-referencing to see that some of the mistranslations are deliberate, a word here a whole phrase there. A few tweaks, verb tense changes then Chris has the whole picture. It goes downhill from there. The next time he sees Derek they're pumping gas into their respective vehicles at the same time. 

“Argent,” Derek smirks as he glances at his watch and moves past the hunter on his way to pay the cashier. In spite of the fact Derek finishes pumping and paying first, Chris beats him to the cabin. 

 

The werewolf barely makes it over the threshold before the words tumble out of Chris. “Do you want a kid?” Hale blinks at him rapidly, stupidly several times, opens his mouth then closes it again. Walking the rest of the way into the cabin, he drops into the chair on the opposite side of the table, stares at Chris a few more seconds before finding his words. 

“Why would you ask me that?” 

“Last time you said something. And I couldn't let it go.” Chris tells Derek what he said. Instead of Hale looking blank like he doesn't remember or embarrassed like 'I said something stupid because I was being fucked', he just looks caught. Which somehow makes it impossible for Chris not to go on. Producing a piece of paper with an incantation on it, the explanation tumbles out of his mouth. The bare bones version takes two minutes. Nimble fingers pull the piece of paper closer. He watches as dark eyes scan across it once, twice. Those dark eyes pin him where he sits. 

 

“Tell me again.” This time the hunter pulls out his notes. 

If the hunter hadn't already realized how far down the rabbit hole he'd scurried when he started researching in earnest whether it was a possibility for male werewolves to bear children, when he launched into a more detailed sharing of what he'd found instead of taking the opportunity to say he was kidding or call April Fools or rib Hale for being so gullible, he knows it now. 

When he finishes the second version which takes fifteen minutes, he's not sure what he expects. Derek says nothing when he places the paper down more carefully than is necessary and gets up. Chris just watches, waits. Perching on the edge of the bed, Hale hunches there for a few minutes, before his shoulders start to shake. Chris knows immediately, although a part of him still hopes, that it's not from laughter. He can't seem to stop this insanity. There is a part of him that was hoping Derek would, but the stricken look on his face as he rose from the his chair let's Argent know there won't be any help coming from that quarter. At least not right now.

Without a word, he gets up from his chair, gets close enough to kneel at Derek's feet. Making quick work of it, he unlaces Hale's boots and pulls them off. “Lay down,” he says gently. He applies a little pressure and Hale goes down on the bed without protest, curling in on himself, his back to Chris. Kicking off his own boots, Chris slides onto the bed behind him. As he does, he wraps one arm tightly around Derek's waist. With his other hand, he makes what he hopes are soothing strokes through his lover's hair.

If having an affair with Derek Hale wasn't a tipoff in the first place to the crazy cakeness of his post nogitsune life, this is. He's holding a werewolf in his arms, who's doing the ugly cry for reasons he doesn't entirely know. He does know what the release of something tightly held looks like, sounds like. His grip tightens as his body molds closer and his mouth presses against the nape of the neck in front of him. Every member of Chris' family has had a bout with crazy. It's just his turn.

The hunter drifts into sleep. The morning sun shining directly in his face wakes him. It's the longest he's slept in awhile. Derek is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision is made.

The hunter is out of town for two weeks. He doesn't bother to tell Hale when he leaves or when he's coming back. That isn't the relationship they have. Their last, atypical encounter doesn't change anything. When he gets back to town he considers stopping at his apartment, but there's a kind of itch between his shoulder blades that starts as soon as his SUV crosses the the city line into Beacon Hills. He doesn't try to fight it. While he was away, there were plenty of opportunities for him to get his dick wet. There always are after a hunt. Especially if you're working freelance and there's a good chance you can put a fair amount of distance between you, the one night stand and the morning after. He needed to kill something and Beacon Hills was still quiet so he'd taken that on the road. Apparently, he had to get his hunter on out of town these days. He'd helped kill some rogue werewolves up north who were feasting on drunk college kids. He'd spilled a lot of blood and it felt fantastic, but he was still enough himself to know if he indulged the bloodlust it would destroy him in a way that lust for Derek Hale wouldn't. He might not survive what he was doing with Hale, but he wouldn't inadvertently take out any innocents. 

Parking in his usual spot, about a mile from the cabin, he gathers his 'go' bag before beginning the hike in. Usually, he shows up at the cabin with nothing more than his car keys, but there were some things that he acquired out of town that he needs to bring with him. The walk in is uneventful. He doesn't stumble across Derek or anyone else for that matter. Business as usual. As he steps over the threshold of the cabin it doesn't take much to see that it's essentially the same condition he left it. There is no sign of the werewolf. 

The current quiet in town doesn't mean unknown menace isn't lurking, waiting. Hunters are sharper than most humans, hyperawareness second nature, but without the ability to literally sniff out deception or danger, he has to take other precautions. On their own, the ingredients that are to be taken with the incantation are benign. They could be bought in the small organic food store in town without much difficulty. It doesn't mean that if someone or some thing happened to get wind of him buying certain items in town they couldn't put two and two together. The information he found was obscure, but he doubts he's the only one in the history of the world to have ever figured it out. In his two weeks away, Argent had visited different shops along the way, picked up one or two things, always paid cash. Before hitting the Beacon Hills city line, he'd mixed everything in two inconspicuous bottles of Pepsi. That it sort of looked like the soft drink is the best thing he can say for it. He unpacks both bottles and leaves them on the table. This hasn't become any less ill advised in the time he's been away, but he put it on the table. It's for the other man to knock it off. The hunter settles in to wait.

§§§§§§

He's out of the chair before the door is fully open. In the time he was killing, waiting to see if the other man would show, he'd entertained himself with technicolor replays of all the things he's done to Derek Hale's body. The arousal is rolling off him, no point in being coy about it. The werewolf is only a few feet over the threshold before they're grappling, exploring each other's tonsils with their tongues. _Finally_ whispers through the hunter's mind. His hands anchor on the other man's waist in a way so like a homecoming that Argent has to actively steel himself against that thought. Beacon Hills is not his home. He has no home.

When he shifts his hand to the top button of Derek's black jeans, intent on slipping it free to make room for his other hand, a tight vice like grip encircles his wrist. Here, Derek has never used his strength against Chris. The hunter tenses, waits. The grip on his wrists tightens that much more as Derek, panting, pulls his mouth away, leans forward. The words of the incantation are a hot, seductive breath in Argent's ear.  
“I picked up some stuff while I was out of town.” 

The grip on his wrists loosens, but the contact isn't severed completely. “I put the rest of it together,” his voice a hoarse husk to his own ears. He indicates with a tilt of his head toward the table. Shifting, Derek pulls the hunter along with him to the table. With his free hand, he picks up one of the bottles. Sniffs at it. 

“Doesn't smell that bad.”

“I can't make any guarantees about the taste.” Without letting go of Argent's wrist he unscrews the top with this teeth, touches his tongue just inside the bottle, grimaces. “If I'd paid money I'd definitely want it back. It's kinda foul.” 

“You don't have to drink it.” The grip on his wrist tightens slightly before disappearing completely. The second bottle is in his hand. “It's probably best to just chug it down quick, ” Derek says with a smile in his voice. Dark eyes flick to light. A sudden flickering vulnerability in those eyes does not go unnoticed. “Whatever you want to do,” Chris responds evenly, only a little surprised at how truly he means it. With a sly smile, a cock of his eyebrow Hale lifts the bottle to his mouth and chugs.

§§§§§§

From the moment they both finished drinking the concoction, a cross between dirty socks and more dirty socks, the tastes and textures of Argent's lover consumed all of his senses in a way they hadn't before. The entire world fell away, narrowed to nothing but getting as deep and pounding as hard as he could into Derek's body to feel him from the inside out. With Derek held between the hunter's hips and the edge of the table, he'd gotten their jeans down just enough to make room for his cock to fit into the cleft of Derek's ass. “I need...,” he barely got out before he slicked Derek with a little pre-cum and pressed in. Once sheathed, his hips seemed to take on a life of their own. Even in to the base, he'd pressed to get deeper. _Deeper, deeper, harder,_ , the mantra in his head until he'd spent inside of Hale with a roar. As he rode it out, he was grateful for the remoteness of the cabin, grateful for the supernatural nature of his partner as his teeth sunk unapologetically deep into the flesh of Derek's shoulder, as his arms formed a band around the other man that would have suffocated anyone strictly human.

“Shit,” Derek had rasped as his claws extended and dug into the side of the table. It had creaked under the pressure. “Easy, easy,” he murmured in the wolf's ear. He'd kept one arm tight around the werewolf as he slid his other hand between Hale's legs and stroked. “I might want to take you _on_ the table later

.

§§§§§§

“Can you get hard right now?”

“Don't know,” Chris responds with amusement. It's been maybe five minutes minutes since he tried to fuck Hale into the side of the table. On his back, one the floor, more of less where he collapsed after slipping free from Derek's body, the usual buzz of the natural high after a round of sport fucking only goes skin deep this time. Thrumming beneath the surface of his skin is a dissatisfaction. A hunger, with an intensity unlike what's come before, tugs at him. It's artificial, a consequence, the hunter ignores the artificiality in favor of the satisfaction.

 

“You want me to?” 

Rhetorical. If Hale feels half of what the hunter feels, he more than wants the hunter to, he _needs_ him to. Argent pushes himself to his feet to get a better look at the other man. What greets him is Hale's naked body sprawled on the bed, sheened in sweat and looking back at him with half-lidded eyes as he draws his knees up, exposing himself. He works his hand with purpose between his legs. All the hunter can think is _I need_.

Argent crawls in between Hale's legs, pins his wrists in a loose hold above his head and grinds. The wolf arches like a bow, undulates against the body pressing him into the mattress. “Yeah,” Hale moans, “I want you to.” 

It's possible Chris blacks out. From one moment it's _Derek, Derek, Derek_ in his head, the name not able to actually make it out of a mouth that's devouring that of the man beneath him with sharp nips and an agile tongue, _Derek, Derek, Derek,_ the slide of their tongues together, him buried thick and deep, coming just as hard as when he had Derek against the table, to the next moment with the tail end of the growled incantation and the beginnings of a soft, worried apology breathed out against his ear.

“I'm sorry Chris I didn't...” The fucked out haze lifts as it registers what exactly Derek is apologizing for. 

“I have better control than this.”

“Mitigating circumstances. There's cream in my bag.”

Chris pushes himself gingerly into a sitting position. Despite the endorphin high, the pain of the deep new scratches on his back can't be entirely ignored. Derek's hands are gentle as he smooths the ointment across the torn skin. The light strokes feel like an extended mea culpa. 

“Mitigating circumstance”, the hunter says again. The fingers against his skin stutter just a little. Then  
“Yeah,” and there's a smile in the wolf's voice that replaces the contrition. “Yeah,” a touch of a growl this time. The application of the of the cream continues to be what it should be for a few moments longer before turning into a caress near his hip where there are no scratches, a long sensual stroke across the nape of the hunter's neck which is also unblemished. The ointment forgotten. The hunger overtakes them both again. 

“Gentle,” he moans as Derek leans in to place an open mouthed kiss against flushed skin. The last thing Argent wants is to have to pay a visit to Melissa McCall for stitches because of rough sex with Derek Hale. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Derek murmurs as he flinches away from contact with his clawed handiwork. His hand slips away from the hunter's neck, but Chris grabs hold of his wrist to prevent the loss of that contact. Without letting go, he maneuvers so they're face to face. As he reaches for the other wrist, there's no resistance. 

While the the ointment dulls the ache, the third time is made awkward because the scratches twinge every time the hunter shifts or thrusts which throws off his stroke into the Hale's wanton body. Anchoring his hands on the hunter's hips, Derek does the best he can not to touch the damaged skin. He's only marginally successful.

“Ride me,” Derek husks out before Chris has completely pulled out of him. Using his strength, the wolf turns the hunter quick, holds and parts him to lick the other man open sloppily, hungrily like it's the first taste he's had. Argent allows the manhandling, allows himself to sink into the sensation, to just let go. The press of tongue penetrates deep into the hunter once more before he works the man onto his cock. The burn whittles everything to the moment. It gives Chris everything he needs. 

The incantation, three times has been a low dirty growl in Argent's ear. For just a moment as Hale shoots and shoots inside him, it occurs to the Chris that he could have missed something in the translation that indicated it would work on humans as well. It's a fleeting thought that doesn't keep him from digging his nails into Hale's forearms as he bears down. With the hold on his hips tightening enough to leave bruises, they shout the incantation to the ceiling.

§§§§§§

_“I think it took_. It takes Chris a moment to recognize the number from the incoming text. At some point during one crisis or another, even before the nogitsune came to wreak havoc, he'd acquired the number. He thinks it might have been during the kanima debacle. The contact list is coded. The numbers he uses regularly are committed to memory, but not this one. They have never used the phone to set up their meetings. As the four word texted declaration settles, Argent realizes he had already put that night in a box marked 'hot sex enhanced with arcane lycan aphrodisiac', never to be repeated. Over the days that followed, he'd allowed the fit of the box to get conveniently too tight to accommodate a child. He deletes the text without looking at it again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably have five parts. Hopefully Chapter Three will come a little more quickly, like two before it it's mostly written, but then work interfered so...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris tries to maintain the status quo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give up making predictions about when chapters will be posted so I'll just say the fic will definitely be completed by the end of the year :-) .

The sun hits the werewolf in such a way that he looks like he's glowing. Chris rolls his eyes at his own observation. It's corny especially given the circumstances, but that's the first thought that comes to mind. Glowing. And if not glowing, he's definitely preening with his face turned upwards toward the sun as he stands stark naked in front of the cabin. Of course he knows Chris is there, but nothing in his demeanor changes to make that acknowledgment. That remains true as the hunter steps from his observation point behind a tree and approaches. 

Even within touching distance, Hale doesn't acknowledge his presence. Argent has no problem playing it this way. With the application of firm pressure, he guides the wolf down to the soft ground where he takes him on all fours. They don't talk about the phone call Derek made or what if anything they're going to tell the others. 

It goes like that for almost a month. They have sex more often, usually outside on the ground, but talk less, if that's possible. Neither of them say anything at all on the subject, until one day they're side by side in the grass trying to catch their breath. Argent has made thorough use of his lover's mouth and ass under the shade of a maple tree. Fucked him to near unconsciousness so he's surprised when Derek musters enough to say, “I think I should tell Deaton.”

###

Deaton laughs for twenty minutes when Derek tells him. Then he gets it together. Gets serious. 'You're both idiots, but given all that's happened I guess it was as likely to manifest this way as any other.”

It's the first time in a month that they've actually been inside the cabin and fully clothed in each other's presence. It makes Argent fidgety. The hunter can't tell if Deaton is commiserating or insulting, but he holds his tongue while the vet outlines how he'll monitor the 'situation'. Derek listens intently. Chris watches as the hand Derek most often uses to stroke him to hardness absently brushes across his stomach. It sparks a prickling of badly timed arousal. Argent shifts his weight and forces his mind to drift to other things. The conversation going on around him has its own little box that he's happy to lock the key on. 

If there are changes after Deaton becomes in the know, it doesn't affect the core dynamic of what he and Hale do together. Derek never refuses him the use of his body. Most of the sex still takes place in the grass and dirt. There was never much pretense about what they were doing before, but there's even less now. Hale always seems to be naked and rutting or undulating in the grass or against a tree when Argent comes upon him. It's like some kind of backwards heat.

This time is no exception. He'd found the other man, naked on his back with his hand between his legs stroking himself and moaning. And as has become the norm, the hunter meets him where he is and takes over. It's such a turn on, the singular focus, that Argent comes with Hale before he is fully out of his own clothes. It obliterates everything just the way he still deeply needs. There have been changes, but that hasn't been one of them.

The perimeter of the cabin had definitely been marked when it became obvious they would be spending a lot of time in that space. It's also become more than a little apparent that the wolf has taken up residence in the cabin. While his attention wandered during the conversation with Deaton, Argent had noticed some things that weren't previously there, personal things. Nothing so obvious as family photos, but definitely Hale totems. Things best not to dwell on because beneath them lie triggers to the things the affair with Hale keeps at bay. The word nesting pops into his head when he first notices the items Derek has added to the cabin and right on the heels of that he gets a flash of Victoria rubbing her barely pregnant stomach seventeen years before.

After that he works doubly hard to keep things in the boxes he's assigned them. Anything not having to do with Hale spreading his legs or vice versa goes into the none of my business box. Even when the evidence of Hale's condition becomes more pronounced they both simply, silently adjust what they do from face to face to the hunter mostly taking Hale on all fours, to the wolf on his knees working the hunter with his mouth, tongue and hands. The wolf has Deaton for the other thing that's going on with him. 

 

Six months post phone call, Argent returns from back to back out of town gigs in the Pacific Northwest. There isn't a moments hesitation or conscious thought, when he crosses the city line. As he needs and expected, Derek is outside, his forearm braced against a tree, with his forehead pressed against his arm, obscuring his face. The motion of his other arm between his legs leaves no question about what he's doing. Hale wonders if Derek waits until he can smell him to start this or if he's just been fortunate to catch him in the act more times than not. His answering arousal is immediate. It's this and perhaps a little weariness from driving almost straight through, that causes him to initially miss the dark smear of blood on Derek's inner thigh. It's not until he draws closer that he can see and smell that the smear is blood. Drops of it dot the grass. In spite of the enthusiastic work Hale's hand, he's flaccid.

“Derek?” 

The dark eyes that turn to the hunter are glassy, unfocused. Sweat beads on his forehead, his upper lip and when Argent reaches out to touch the wolf's cheek he finds the skin underneath clammy. 

“Are you hurt?” 

The expression in the eyes looking back at him doesn't change. Just like that Argent's arousal dissipates. “Okay, okay,” he murmurs softly as he slides his hand down to cover the one between Hale's legs to stop the motion. With the clinical detachment of assessing a fallen comrades injuries in the field, Argent takes his hand away from Hale's cheek and slides it gingerly over his ass and across his opening looking for an injury to explain the blood. His fingers come away with blood on their tips. His other hand goes immediately for his phone.

 

Fortunately, there is a pretty substantial first aid kit in the cabin. Argent has no idea if it's one of the new additions to the space although it's just as likely it was there from the beginning. While he waits for Deaton, he uses gauze from the kit to absorb the spotting. 

“His ability to heal is compromised,” Deaton had said in a tone both frustrated and admonishing. As he'd listened to Deaton's instructions he'd realized that he didn't know whether or not what was happening was supposed to be happening. Deaton hadn't really elaborated. He'd just muttered, “I'm on the way.” Chris thought there might have been an unspoken 'asshole' at the end. 

Kneeling up behind his lover on the bed, Chris holds the gauze pack in place while his fingers card through dark hair. Beneath his hand, the wolf is unresponsive.  


A car door slams. _Good, finally_ Argent thinks Deaton has arrived. But then a second door slams and Deaton hadn't said anything about bringing someone with him. The hunter's hand goes for the gun at his waist. Leaving the wolf's side, he inches toward the small window in the cabin to try and get a better look at his visitors. He's never seen the white panel van parked at the edge of the cabin before. He palms his phone to call Deaton again when there's a knock on the door. 

 

Argent waits. 

“Chris open the door.” 

“Who's with you?”

“I'm going to need to open him up most likely. I brought someone to help with the surgery. You have a lot of skills, but I don't think you'll be much help in this.” The door opened a fraction, Chris peers out to take stock of the young slightly built man in scrubs standing next to Deaton. The hunter can take him if it comes to that.

“He's been vetted?”

“I wouldn't do anything to bring harm to Talia's son or grandchild.” 

It sounds like an accusation. Keeping his gun trained on the unfamiliar man, the hunter toes the door open. Upon entering, the second man behaves like a consummate professional, takes Derek's pulse and temperature, starts an IV, while Deaton checks the gauze. Worry lines furrow more deeply into his forehead. Sparing barely a glance in Chris' direction, “It's time.”

Before he knows quite what's hit him, Chris finds himself standing on the other side of the door on the cabin steps. Images of Victoria sweaty, face scrunched in pain with her hand firmly clutching his assail him. He hears Gerard sharing that he was out on hunts when both he and his sister were born, sent out by Chris' mother both times to keep him out of her hair. He hears Victoria's happy laughter at being presented with a baby girl. The memories threaten to take Chris under. 

 

An hour, maybe two later the door to the cabin opens and closes firmly, but quietly. Cored from the inside out, Argent waits. Deaton takes up the position next to him on the steps. They stand there side by side for perhaps five minutes with their breathing the only thing breaking the silence. Deaton lets out a mocking snort before he finally speaks.

“It's a boy.” The information rolls over the hunter looking for a place to land. 

“Is he...” 

“Healthy, yes. Since he's mixed, the rest might not be fully apparent until he's closer to puberty. You can't always tell right away. Derek may be able to assess a little better once he wakes up. He may be able to smell it.”

“Is he okay?”

“Worn out. His healing is still compromised, but he'll heal, the scar will eventually, disappear. No one will be the wiser.” It's not exactly condemnation in Deaton's voice, but it's definitely not approval. 

The hunter takes a step down, away. 

“I have some business in town. I'll be back in an hour.” 

Two hours later a text hits Argent's phone. _I'm leaving in twenty minutes._ Tone is difficult to tell in texts, but the hunter has no trouble hearing Deaton's reprimand. It had only taken him five minutes to get what he needed from the safe. The rest of the time, well the truth of that is he might have lost a little bit of time perched on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall. 

When he gets back to the cabin, Deaton meets him on the steps. “Chris, do you have any idea what you're doing?” The concern is genuine and in the face of it Argent can only tell the truth, “Yeah, I do.”

Derek's still asleep so deeply he doesn't stir at all when Argent opens and closes the door. The same holds true for the youngest person in the room as well. Reaching into his bag, the hunter retrieves the folder that contains what he's been working on for the last three months. 

Ninety days ago, on the road to another town to help out a group of hunters in training, the name Lucas Nathan had popped into Chris Argent's head. It had nothing to do with the work he'd be doing with the hunters, but it was not completely unknown to him. While driving the deserted back stretches in the wee hours, his mind often used that time to plan, to organize, to puzzle out the things that needed puzzling out. For several miles of dark road, Lucas Nathan and all the things necessary to make that a real person had unfurled in his head like a to do checklist. 

He'd set about checking off the necessary elements. On the surface it read like the creation of a new alias. It was nothing he hadn't done before. He didn't use aliases often, rarely in fact, since most of the people he worked with and for were specifically looking for the Argent brand, but it never hurt to have a fallback to drop into in case of emergency. 

Argent flips open the folder to check the documents for the last time. Everything is as it should be. He'd done the work himself to ensure its air-tightness. He skimmed the top page, a birth certificate for Lucas Nathan Hale. The space for the father's name holds the most obvious information. The mother listed will never come to claim the child. The date of birth is off by two months, but he doubts that will be an issue. Not in the long run. Other documents, equally necessary and important, fill out the folder. After giving them a cursory look, he sets the folder in the middle of the table in plain view.

Closing the folder, Argent turns his attention to the the white bassinet next to the bed. One of the things Deaton's assistant trailed into the cabin after they'd gotten Derek stabilized, along with a diaper bag and surgical equipment. Gently his index finger strokes across the swaddled infant's forehead, his thumb traces across the dark shock of curls on his head. He repeats the action with Derek. As his hand cards through the werewolf's hair, _it's done_ whispers through Argent's mind. In the truck, his 'go' bag is packed and ready. 

Chris Argent leaves the cabin as quietly as he came. Father and son sleep on.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris gets a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I was going to complete this by the end of the year which is two days from now. Ooops. I am working on it right now, but most likely the first week of 2016. I know. The important thing, it has not been abandoned. Thank you to those who are still interested and reading.

As he gets closer to shore, Chris spots the leather jacketed figure watching. He wonders how long he's been waiting. How long he'd been prepared to wait. Chris hadn't known how long he was going to be on the water. At the moment he's between paying gigs, so he's playing a hunch about some unexplained disappearances in the area. A selkie is more than likely responsible for a spate of drownings in the Sound, but his day on the water has not yielded anything particularly useful. 

The hunter hasn't exactly made himself difficult to find. People remain interested in the Argent brand and he's used that to expand his hunting repertoire and his client base. He's keeping his hand in the game the way he feels most able to at this point in his life. Although his home base has shifted to Washington State he still spends a fare amount of time on the road stopping in at gun shows, consulting and training hunters on a case by case basis. 

At the dock, he goes about his regular routine securing the boat, locking everything down before stepping onto the mostly deserted dock. Nothing about the person on the dock fosters any hurry in the hunter. If the figure waiting had wanted to hurt him, he could have done so by now. Or whenever it was actually he'd tracked Chris down. The hunter doubts it was only the amount of time it would have taken his surprise visitor to arrive from Beacon Hills and be standing on the dock at this precise moment. The hunter has no regrets about the choices he's made. Without reservation, he puts himself within striking distance. 

“Derek.” 

Derek doesn't strike. With the arch of an eyebrow, the answering reply is simple, belying all that has happened between the hunter and the wolf.

“Chris.” 

 

The ex-lovers walk not exactly side by side, but close enough to give the appearance of being together as they move up the dock toward the Crow's Nest, a cozy family owned restaurant/bar on the pier. To people passing by them as they walk, they look friendly enough, but beyond their initial greeting neither of of them has said another word to the other. Argent had simply nodded after Derek said his name and started toward the Nest. He'd planned to grab something to eat on his way home and Hale's unexpected appearance isn't any reason to alter that plan. A man's got to eat afterall. 

It's a weeknight so the crowd is light. Argent is grateful for that. Just enough people to keep them both in check, not enough to make damage control difficult should it become necessary. 

“I'll have the house burger and a jenlain, ambrée.” A quirked eyebrow from the other side of the table greets his order. 

“I'll have the same thing, but with a real beer. Anything local.” 

Silence settles over the table in the wake of the waiter's retreat. They spend the minutes waiting for their food watching each other. It surprises the hunter that he feels a prickling of desire for Hale. Their affair had had a specific purpose, for him to lose himself.

He turned everything off the minute he'd crossed the city line out of Beacon Hills one year ago. Objectively speaking Hale is attractive, as the few people around them casting furtive looks could affirm. Argent chalks his reaction up to the surprise of seeing Hale. He thought that the wolf might seek him out, but he'd been expecting something sooner, more adversarial. He supposes there's still time for that once they've eaten. When the food and beers are on the table, they both tuck in pretty heartily. Three big bites and swig of his beer, then Hale clears his throat. 

“His father's scent should be in the house. It should surround him. He should know it.” Chris slows down his chewing so the retort, , _He does have his father's scent._ doesn't make it past his lips. 

His eyes dart to Chris' face without meeting his eyes. They find some place just past his shoulder, looking out of the window that frames the Sound. 

“Are you coming home?”

He's swallowed just in time that this retort doesn't go unspoken. “Beacon Hill isn't my home.”

“It's where your son is. This doesn't get compartmentalized. I waited a year, gave you a year.”

Reaching into his pocket, Derek pulls out his phone, holds it up so Chris can see his wallpaper. “He's dark like my side of the family, but everything else. That's all you. He's an Argent.”

Chris averts his eyes from the picture of Lucas Hale. He doesn't want to see Derek's coloring with a head of black, messy ringleted curls and very light, very bright eyes. 

 

Derek places the phone on the table between them. 

 

"It's not when he was bawling his head off, that was bad. That wasn't great, especially with werewolf hearing, but it wasn't the worst. It was after, when he was asleep and things were relatively quiet. I would....” 

Derek's adam's apple bobs convulsively a couple times, before he picks up his train of thought.

“I would miss your hands, your mouth all of it.”

Chris is happy for the instinct that told him to keep this to a public place. Derek's words are not as unaffecting as he knows his face shows. His heart rate is mostly steady, but there was a slight palpitation that probably wasn't wholly unnoticed. 

 

The important part though, is that none of that can be acted on right now. It's possible if they were alone he would take the wolf on the table and worry about the consequences later. It's been awhile since he's scratched that itch. Mostly he hasn't felt the itch until about twenty minutes ago.

Hale's eyes rest on the hunter's mouth for a few heartbeats. Long enough for Chris to wonder if Derek will stretch across the table to kiss him. As if coming back to himself, Derek blinks a couple of times and flicks his eyes to Chris', shifts gears. 

“When Lucas was five months old, Stiles is at the house just staring at him. He and Scott like to just drop by to, I don't know make sure I hadn't eaten the baby or something and that particular drop by, he's just staring a Lucas it was kind of freaky. Then he blurts out _Oh my God it's like you and Chris Argent had a love child_. Each day since he was born, he looks more and more like you. I hoped it was just really obvious to me because I knew the truth. Then his eyes got lighter. For split second I thought about saying he was Jennifer's, that there was magic, a curse maybe involved. Something. But I didn't want to put that on him. Sins of the father and all that. Scott needed to know. They needed to know the truth in case something happened to me. With the town being the way it is, you know. ”

It doesn't sound like a jab, but Chris has no trouble believing it is.

“The pack's been...they were good before, but once Scott found out he was Allison's little brother, he's at the house at least once a day. He talks to Lucas about Allison sometimes. And Stiles, he's promised free babysitting for life. I haven't actually taken him up on it, because, well it's Stiles. Deaton comes by too.”

When the hunter left Beacon Hills twelve months ago he'd known what he was doing. Understood it. Nothing Hale says dissuades him from that. “There is nothing I can give you that you don't already have Derek.”

The wolf cocks his eyebrow, but doesn't respond. Just picks up his burger and talks a huge bite. They finish the rest of the meal in virtual silence. When they are down to the last of the beer in their bottles, Derek slides a piece of paper across the table. “Meet me here at four.”

A brief glance shows Argent that it's an address in a local residential neighborhood, a nice one. He gives Hale a considering look. Planning isn't really the wolf's strong suit so he doubts there's subterfuge, but if he's been spending time with both Deaton and Stiles, the hunter supposes that opens up a range of possibilities. It piques his curiosity. Without comment, he slips the paper into his pocket.

§§§§§§§§§

The knock on the front door of the house where he's staying only relieves a little of Derek's tension. That Chris is at the door is a battle won, but it's not the war. Not yet.

He was telling the truth about the babysitting in Beacon Hills. Stiles always offers, is always around, but he hadn't needed him to watch after Lucas for this trip. To say that Chris is shocked when Isaac opens the door would be an understatement.

“Mr. Argent.” A kind of disdain, he wouldn't have imagined possible from the kid, laces through the otherwise formal greeting.

“Hey kid, how've you been?”

There's a half shrug and what looks like a hint of a mischievous smile. 

“I've been good Mr. Argent. Really good.” All the disdain has slipped out of his tone. 

“How long you been back?”

Isaac ducks his head. “About nine months now.” 

Before Chris can ask another question, Derek strides into the room with something in his hand. He embraces Chris quickly before shoving the something into his hand. By the time Chris has a chance to see what it is, Derek and Isaac have used their werewolf speed to make a hasty retreat. To leave him alone in the house. 

Chris stares at the thing in his hand reconciling what it means. It's on, so he does what Derek intended him to do. He follows where it leads.

The bedroom he ends up in is simply and cleanly furnished with heavy dark wood furniture with windows draped in dark blue curtains and matching bedset. From the size it's obviously the master. Stepping into the room, he turns off the gadget in his hand. He knows he has no right to be angry and he isn't. Surprised, yes. A little shaken, but he's been in life threatening situations and there is nothing of that in this. 

He wonders just how far away Derek and Isaac have gone. They're probably within earshot to clock his reaction, to see if they need to come back to the house. That won't be necessary. Chris Argent has got this.

It's a little disconcerting to have his own eyes staring crystal clear at him. The picture on Derek's phone hadn't quite done it justice. Lucas Hale is the spitting image of both his parents. Argent can see clearly how someone who knew them both would immediately pick up on the Argent resemblance, but for him he sees primarily the Hale in him. From his perspective, the little boy is more Hale than anything. 

"Hey little man," he says quietly as he steps close enough to the playpen at the foot of the king size bed and lifts him up into his arms. "Happy Birthday."

Holding the child in his arms for the first time does not elicit overwhelming guilt. Had Derek not turned up at the water today, he would have allowed the day to pass without any special acknowledgment. He might have come back in, had dinner, then gone back out onto the water to sit and wait for signs of the selkie.

The rhythm of taking care of a toddler comes back to him as though it hasn't been well over a decade since he'd gotten down on the floor to play blocks, put up a high chair and washed mashed peas out of places where peas shouldn't be. This is something he probably should have anticipated. If not well before Hale arrived then certainly when he was asked to meet him at this house. Clearly he'd given the idea that Hale might be murderously angry and come after him on a tear more weight than the notion he might come gently, offering a second chance.

§§§§§§§§§

Hours later Derek manages to find his way back.

“Are you just going to stand there glowering at me all night?”

“I spent a year doing it in absentia, it's kind of nice to be able to do it in person.” 

 

That sentiment doesn't keep the werewolf from moving further into the room, from stripping down to his underwear and t-shirt and sliding into bed next to the hunter who holds the sleeping toddler against his shirtless chest, enveloping him in his scent. Derek brushes his hand down Lucas' back, stopping just shy of contact with Chris' hand. They fall asleep like that.

 

The navy curtain keeps the room mostly dark, but Argent's internal clock tells him it's probably about seven in the morning when he wakes up alone. He listens for sounds in the house, but as acute as his hearing is, he isn't a wolf. It's quiet as a church mouse, too quiet for a house with a child in residence. Chris reaches for the gun on the nightstand. 

The second story of the house is clear. In the kitchen, he finds Hale alone, leaning against one of the marble counters. Chris notes his ex-lover's relaxed posture. The hunter hadn't bothered to get dressed so he's still only in his boxer briefs. With no place to holster the weapon, he puts the safety back on and places it on the counter. 

Derek's eyes flick to the weapon before he flashes a smirk at the hunter. 

“The house was too quiet.”

"Isaac took Lucas to the park for breakfast."

"So you and Isaac -"

The smirk becomes more pronounced. 

"He's pack Chris. He found out from Scott, came back to help. Just showed up at the house one day. He's good with Lucas, especially when he's cranky. He smelled like both of us this morning.” 

There's a contented satisfaction in Hale's voice. It makes Argent uncomfortable. 

“Derek -”

“You didn't say no.” 

That's true. He has to give Hale that, but he also didn't say yes in the way that Derek seems to now want to pretend that he did. It's not something that he's prepared to make an issue of right now. 

What the hunter hears underneath is that it was harder than the wolf thought it was going to be, provided there had been actual thought, beyond filling a void, having another actual blood Hale in the world. He hears that Hale's afraid he's going to screw it up, in spite of all the help he's had. In spite of the good job he's obviously done with his son so far. He hears all that, but it has no bearing on what Chris will ultimately do.

 

Argent isn't completely heartless, not so much the asshole that he will pretend not to see this. Although he's done some first class work on keeping these things at bay, he does remember what it was like being a young parent. He doesn't want to, but he does. He had someone he could look to for reassurance, someone that had an equal stake in trying not to fuck up. Not that they hadn't obviously. This wouldn't be happening if they hadn't. He hadn't. In those early days, he's not sure what he would have done if he hadn't been able to look over the crib or across a squalling head and see Victoria looking back.

He walks up on Derek until they are toe to toe. Wrapping his arms around him, Argent pulls him close. 

“What, are we gonna hug it out or something?” The question is partially muffled against his shoulder.

“Or something.” Argent tightens his hold just a bit and the wolf inhales as he nestles his face in the hunter's neck.

They've never really done this, held each other without it being a precursor. Without his hand slipping down to either cup his ex-lover's ass or cock. This time one arm remains firmly anchored around Derek's shoulders while the other hold him tight at the waist.

“He so little,” Derek says quietly. “And I don't know yet. I can't tell, what if he's fully human? I mean there were humans in our pack, before, but I wasn't _raising_ any of them. How am I supposed to raise a human? What if he's like Stiles?”

Argent can't help but laugh. Derek does have a point. Stiles' dad is the Sheriff and still his kid is a handful. What's teenage rebellion gonna look like in a human kid whose father is a werewolf? The Sheriff had to go it alone and was probably more of an absentee dad than he'd like to admit. Derek has his pack. 

“You have the pack,” he says out loud.

“Yeah,” Derek agrees quietly, but doesn't make any move to pull out of the hunter's embrace. 

 

By the time Isaac gets back they are on opposite sides of the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Argent's shared his selkie theory and Derek's offered up a couple not entirely helpful theories of his own. There's an awkward moment when it seems Isaac is not sure who to hand Lucas off to, but the boy reaches for Derek and says “Da.” As Derek takes him Lucas does fix his eyes on the man whose eyes mirror his and chortles. 

Shortly after bringing the baby back, Isaac disappears from the house entirely. His disappearance is obviously completely by design, again. When Derek announces, “Most of our stuff is already packed up in the truck. We can swing by your house to pick up your bag before we drive back to Beacon Hills,”  


“Oh we can, can we?”

What the wolf is doing is desperately transparent, but the selkie patrol was mostly to kill time until the hunter's next legitimate paying gig. He can drop the progress he's made so far, which is really not much more than formulating his theory, into the ear of a local. He'll go to Beacon Hills and spread his scent around Derek's house if that's what the wolf needs. It doesn't mean the hunter has to stay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris gives in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it's been awhile. Originally, I was going to post one large, final chapter which is one of the reasons it has taken so long. But I've gone ahead and divided it into two. It shouldn't take another year for the very, very last part, but I have said that before. Thanks for hanging in.

Argent does most of the driving. Lucas alternately giggles, baby talks and cries in the backseat. Riding shotgun, Hale tends the boy's needs which involve pulling over far more than Argent's use to on this drive. They've only been on the road for about five hours, and have stopped what feels like once each of those hours. On his own, Chris can make this drive in a day, with Derek and Lucas he thinks they'll be lucky if it only takes two. He's not exactly looking forward to that. 

 

It's as inadvisable as it is inevitable. Derek suggests they get a hotel room for a couple of hours so he can put Lucas down for a nap. It comes as no surprise. Even though daylight savings time has left them with lots more daylight to burn, Lucas has entered a stage of cranky no amount of funny faces, Wheels on the Bus, animal crackers or purring can nudge him out of. Inadvisable, but also a relief to pull into the parking lot on the backside of the Day's Inn. 

It's not the first time he's stayed at this Day's Inn. There are three rooms he prefers. Easy infil and exfil, if the need arises, good view of the parking lot. He leaves the wolf to the business of getting Lucas out of his carseat and gathering whatever other toddler related things he'll need. Given the time of year, Argent already knows which of the three rooms is likely to be vacant. He gives that room number to Derek before heading to the front desk to check them in. 

Keycard in hand Argent rounds the corner to the room, pulling up short suddenly, slammed with a weird moment of deja vu. Standing in front of the room, with Lucas balanced on his hip, diaper bag and a portable playyard against the other, Derek looks every inch the suburban dad. For a moment, Chris feels displaced in time. Like looking in a mirror of sorts, there were many a road trip in his early days with Victoria and Allison.

“Chris?”

Blinking back into the present circumstance, his ghosts fading as quickly as they came, Chris moves forward without comment to slip the card key into the lock. He swings the door wide to let Derek follow in behind him. Derek drops the car seat onto the closest of the rooms two double beds, unstraps Lucas from the carrier and sets him against the headboard with his sippy cup.

 

Even though it's probably not necessary Chris goes through his routine of checking the room thoroughly. Checks the bathroom, the seal of the windows. He peers out the main window into the parking lot to clock the cars and trucks that have pulled into the parking lot since he checked them in. Satisfied that the room is as secure as it can be and there's nothing unexpected in the immediate vicinity, he unholsters his concealed carry weapon and places it on the round table in front of the window. 

It's gone quiet behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder reveals Derek crouched beside the playyard stroking his hands through Lucas' hair. There's just the faintest purring. Turning away, the hunter busies himself unsheathing the knife in his boot. 

The hand on his neck is warm. Fingers slotted into the invisible places carved out by them over the months of the affair. There is unquestionably a Pavlovian element as Argent's head dips to let Hale's fingers splay across the nape of his neck. 

“Chris.” Derek's voice breaks a little over his name. _This is a bad idea_ , flits through Chris' mind again, but he makes no attempt to stop his ex-lover's other hand from flicking open the button of his jeans, sliding down the zipper. Chris doesn't think it was a deliberate decision to go commando, but as Derek's hand slides easily over his erection, he doesn't exactly regret the omission. He slides his tongue into Derek's mouth and lets himself be taken apart.

The Day's Inn is not the last time they stop. At an Am/Pm just before the California state line, after Chris anchors the pump in the gas tank, he steps to Derek who's leaning against the closed gate of the truck. Lucas babbles happily in his car seat. The pump island blocks a clear sight line for the attendant. They're the only ones at the pumps for the moment. Crowding the wolf up against the closed gate of the truck, the hunter encounters no resistance. Derek just sort of ducks his head so their eyes don't meet. That should be fine with Chris, because this is still a mistake, but one of the things that turned him on before was watching everything play across his partner's face. Losing himself in its changes. 

“Look at me.”

There's only a moment's hesitation, before the wolf lifts his head to meet Chris' crystal gaze. The hunter doesn't flinch from the need reflected, deeper than the physical. It's a need he can't meet. It doesn't stop him from wading knee deep into the baser one. 

 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

 

The Hale house has been completely transformed. Considering its previous state it wouldn't have taken much, but more than a simple re-building of the house it use to be, Derek has taken the time to make it truly his own. There isn't much in the structure to echo the former. Argent can understand wanting to leave those reminders behind, but he's surprised that it's something Derek would be able to do this thoroughly. It's sleeker, a more modern combo of an estate and a bunker. Where previously there had been just the one house, the main structure, there are now three structures, enclosed on the property by a cement wall with an iron gate. There are the cursory security features on the house that are visible from the gate like cameras mounted on each corner and motion sensitive flood lights. Those and the height of the wall are probably enough to discourage kids on a dare or other lookie loos from town, and random passersby, but the quick, professional visual assessment Chris does indicates Derek has gone deeper than that. 

Above all of the windows are metal drop down shutters that are definitely fireproof, bulletproof, probably other things proof. There are nearly invisible ridges in the lawn leading up the house that suggests the yard has been spike stripped in some way to stop intruders from getting close to the house. His fingers tingle at the prospect of getting his hands on the specs for the entire breakdown of the house's fortifications and security features. 

Inside, it's not exactly baby central, but there's no mistaking that a child lives in the home. From the child proofing in the electrical sockets to the annoying latches on the cabinets when he tries to open one to find a coffee mug. 

Left to his own devices in the kitchen, after liberating the mug from the cabinet, Chris makes himself a strong cup of coffee while Derek settles Lucas. Sounds of movement around on the second level filter through the baby monitor on the kitchen counter, while Chris sips his coffee and clocks the drop down security door that separates the kitchen from the living room. Instead of an open plan, there are distinct entrances and exits for the main rooms on the ground floor. He assumes the same design extends to all the rest of the rooms of the house. Each one capable of becoming it's own panic room. 

On a hunch, he swings open the pantry door. At first glance it appears typical, stocked with an inordinate amount of junk food. There's also a security camera by the door that shows the exterior front and back of the house, a panel that appears to have controls for both the cameras and security doors. Closer inspection reveals the edges of a trapdoor in the floor. Derek finds him crouched over the opening.

“It leads to the preserve,” Derek says quietly. 

“It's a pretty impressive set-up.” As Chris uncrouches Derek's eyes drift up from his ass to his face when they're eye to eye. 

“If there's anything you think can be better...”

“Who did the work?”

“Slaenzeger. Deaton recommended them.”

“They're good, been in the business a long time.”

Derek's shoulders relax, like he'd been waiting for this final seal of approval. 

“Do you want to see the rest?”

The house has five bedrooms and three baths, four of the bedrooms on the second level. The fortifications, protections mirror the first floor. One of the bedrooms looks like it's been commandeered by the rest of the pack for sleepovers with a pile of sleeping bags on the floor and no actual bed in the room, another has a keypad on the door. After entering the security code, Derek steps aside to reveal what appears,at first glance anyway, to be a fully equipped armory. A quick, professional cataloging of what's in plain view from the doorway shows enough firepower to stop just about anything that would breach the house. 

There's is also a heavy antique desk in the corner with several drawers, two grimoire's in pride of place on the top. He assumes there's a beastiary somewhere in the room as well. 

“Beacon Hills, you know, but we've tried to cover as many bases as we could.” There's just the teeniest bit of uncertainty there like there when Chris had asked about the security company. Without hesitation, the hunter brushes a reassuring hand down Derek's arm. “It's good Derek. Really.” A pleased smile breaks across Hale's features.

The room next to the armory is pretty sparse. A large bed outfitted in the same navy blues as the house in Washington. Maybe it's because his bed is more or less a cot or the bed in the house in Washington is the more recent memory, but the bed looks decadently inviting. The idea of having Derek on it takes instant hold. 

A large dresser with a baby monitor and what appears to be the entrance to a large walk in closet complete the room's non-security features. Although it's possible the closet hides another means of escape or more weapons. 

“Take off your clothes Chris.” 

But the tour is apparently over. The baby monitor is quiet. The wolf' has his back to him. The hunter's first instinct, though not necessarily the strongest one is to walk out of the bedroom. He's done his part for the night. He's back in Beacon Hills. He lingered for a few extra minutes in Lucas' room, picking up and putting down some of his things. There are a couple t-shirts he can leave behind for Derek to drape over the side of the crib if he wants to do that, but he's done what he said he would do.

Except the itch is still there under his skin. The one he's been able to ignore for the better part of a year. The one that seems to have Derek Hale's name all over it. The one that makes him want to put every square inch of the bed to the kind of use that has nothing to do with a good night's sleep. 

There's no point in making a show of it, since Derek's back is turned so he strips his shirt over his head in the same motion with one hand he undoes the top button of his jeans and starts shoving them down. As soon as the button of his jeans hits the hard wood, Derek is on him. 

 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

 

The witching hour wakes Argent with a start. The bedspread, top sheet and one of the pillows are strewn across the floor. The drapes are wide open. Light from the half moon filters through the double paned window. His hand rests loosely on the swell of his bed partner's ass. Resisting the urge to squeeze, he allows a quick caress before slipping out of the bed as quietly as he can. Ten minutes later, he's dressed and back in the Suburban. At a diner on the edge of town, black coffee in hand, he scrolls through the real estate app he just downloaded to his phone. There's a property that's been for sale for almost a year. From the address it's on the opposite side of town, near the preserve. From the description and pictures, it's on a cul de sac that butts up against the edge of the preserve. He's not sure how long he's going to have to humor Hale. He's not needed in Beacon Hills and as of an hour ago their sexual relationship is over. It's not something he should have rekindled, but the pleasant aches throughout his body are hard to regret. 

Argent doesn't want to but he remembers what it was like to be new. Derek is new and so Chris will humor him, give him a little more time to let go. He can cool his heels in Beacon Hills for six months, but he doubts he'll give it longer than that.

**Author's Note:**

> Checking in to say the last parts are still coming. It was going to be one more part, but Part 6 is going to more than likely be 6 & 7 with a bonus fic that popped in my head last month while trying to finish this up.
> 
> Ideally everything will be posted at the same time so when it's done, it's really done. Thanks for your patience.


End file.
